


Who We Are When

by Kendas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-03
Updated: 2010-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendas/pseuds/Kendas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been eight years, eleven months and – well, Hermione's not exactly sure of the number of days. What she is sure of, however, is Blaise Zabini. In fact, she certain she'd recognise him anywhere. Even with the mask. And eight years ago, she'd never dreamed she would be here or that she'd have this chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who We Are When

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This was a gift for bk03 for the Hermione_smut 2010 exchange.  
>  **Beta Credit:** Many thanks to Heather for their excellent beta skills, and thanks also to Tamlane for her suggestions and support.  
>  **Disclaimer:** None of the characters or locations used in this story are mine. They belong solely to the imagination of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers and Bloomsbury.

' _Man is least himself when he talks in his own person.  
Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.'_  
Oscar Wilde

It had been eight years, eleven months and – well, Hermione wasn't entirely sure of the number of days. Not off the top of her head at least, but she'd be able to work it out if you just gave her a few minutes, because the last time she saw Blaise Zabini was a day that would be imprinted on her memory forever. It was up there with the day she hugged Ron and Harry and thought, _'Finally! Finally it's over.'_

And even though it had been those eight years, eleven months and however-many days, she'd recognise him anywhere. Even with the mask.

With one palm flat against his chest, Hermione pushed herself up on her toes and smiled - coy - freer than she could ever remember feeling and said, "Yes."

***

What Hermione remembered about the aftermath of Dumbledore's funeral was the sheer amount of people. Everywhere. She'd found herself reminded of the January sale her cousin had dragged her to two years earlier, the only difference being that these crowds were far more sombre and seemed to have considerably less purpose.

It had felt like there was a reluctance in the student population; no one quite ready to return to their rooms, to admit that the funeral was over, that Professor Dumbledore was – No one had seemed quite ready to start packing up to go home.

Hermione understood the sentiment. It was like the air around her felt fragile, like just touching a wall or a table or a door too hard could cause the illusion to shatter and break. The reality of what they were up against - that it was really starting again - seemed present in every corner of her periphery vision; the idea of going home would have been like turning around and facing it head on. It felt like as long as they stayed at Hogwarts then they could delay having to wake up.

Except, Hermione couldn't afford to indulge herself in foolish delusions and poetic wanderings. Time had become too valuable, the battle of good and evil far too real and not half as appealing or romantic the story books made it out, especially now that she had a starring role; now that everyone one she knew and held dear were the main characters. She needed to be prepared; needed to make sure Harry and Ron were too and to do that she needed to take advantage of the distraction. She bit her lip and tried not to dwell on how callous that made her feel, because among the mourning and dismay and denial, hopefully no one would notice what she needed going missing. Not even Madam Pince. And that was important.

***

Hermione let her feet drop, her heels slipping back to the ground, and her lips almost brushing against Blaise's. She'd leant in that close, her answer an almost kiss, breathed out against his mouth.

Her eyes flicked back up to his at the feel of his hand flattening against the small of her back, pulling her back in and up while he tilted her head, just so, with his other.

Blaise's tongue slid out over his lower lip, noticeable only out of the corner of her vision, the smallest movement that she couldn't help but feel a need to track. When he kissed her this time it was not the polite, hesitant kiss she had initiated earlier. Instead, it was all greedy little nips, which cajoled and enticed as he pulled her closer still, deepening the kiss. The edges of their masks caught where they rested on the bridge of their noses and cheekbones, scraping loud and bright in the seclusion of the alcove. Hermione's ears felt full of the sound, the noise of festival fading and growing distant even though it was less than ten metres away. It was like ducking your head under water and when Blaise pulled back, the rustle of Hermione's dress against his robes and the noise of their breaths - fast little pants that felt warm and moist against Hermione's skin – joined the cacophony.

She felt disorientated, and it seemed easier to just lean forward, slide her hand up to curl around the back of Blaise's neck.

Eight years ago, she never thought she would ever be here.

Blaise's eyes swept over her face, his thumb brushing her cheek and Hermione looked up from where her thumb was playing with the short hairs at the base of his head. She'd never had the chance to see his eyes this close before, not really; would definitely never have gotten to see them like this back when they were classmates – pupils dilated, just a hint of gold around the edge. This was always off limits which was why she'd barely ever let herself look.

The social politics of inter-house friendships, maybe this was just another – more selfish – reason for why she'd always thought such divisions a bad idea.

Blaise kissed the corner of her mouth, just a hint of the tip of his tongue, and it was enough to break the moment of reverie she'd trapped herself in.

"Come on."

***

Hermione took a quick look around before lowering the wards of the Restricted Section and sneaking inside.

Everywhere had seemed clear, empty as she'd expected and Blaise had caught her completely by surprise, stepping out from between two rows of books at the far end. His face was neutral, but for the way his mouth slanted up in a wry smirk as he said, "You're not the only student whose marks are exceptional enough to be granted leniency on certain rules, you know?"

Hermione felt her cheeks heat, because that's not what she thought. She's not that conceited no matter what some of her classmates seemed to think. She tilted her chin up, eyes anywhere but on the boy leaning with casual appraisal against the end of one of the stacks. "I know. I just - I didn't expect anyone else to be here. Right now, I mean."

The last bit of her reply had been shakier than she'd intended and with more bite. The inconvenience of this turn of events had clearly frazzled her nerves some, that was all.

Blaise just nodded though. Just bloody stood there. Watching her. Ignoring the accusation.

Hermione huffed, breaking the deadlock, but the sharp exhalation of air didn't unseat the guilty ' _sorry_ ' tickling the back of her throat. So she ignored it as best she could, distracting herself by moving along the line of shelves, looking for what she needed; for what could be useful, telling herself Blaise would probably be gone soon enough and reminding herself that, at the end of the day, he was a Slytherin so, it really shouldn't have been a surprise that he wasn't fazed by recent events.

She ran her fingers over the spine of an Arithmancy tome she'd been particularly fond of and lamented the idea that this would be the last time she touched the frayed edges of its binding. She studiously tried to ignore the pair of eyes following her progression along the stacks - _Bloody Slytherins_ \- and the inkling of self reproach for being so cynical.

***

They walked down the street, Hermione's hand in Blaise's, the Italian terraces rising up tall on either side of them and making the road feel even narrower.

It wasn't second thoughts, but Hermione had an urge to pause and glance back over her shoulder to where the lanterns lit up the mouth of the ally. The music and noise of the revellers had dimmed to a low constant hum at this distance, the shimmering fairies becoming a barely visible twinkle against the garlands strung up to decorate the buildings. It was beautiful, like a painting, and she couldn't help taking a moment to admire it, wishing regretfully for her camera and the opportunity to capture and keep it.

Her attention was coaxed away from the scene by a gentle squeeze of her hand. The smile on Blaise's lips was softer than she would have ever expected him to be capable of when they'd been at school together.

"Alright?" he asked.

Hermione didn't answer straight away. She looked back at the lights, watched as the silhouettes of a couple stumbled into the alcove she'd so recently also found herself ensconced within.

When she did turn back to Blaise, it was to take a step closer. Her fingers loosened in Blaise's grip until she could trail one fingertip up over Blaise's palm to his wrist. She flicked her eyes up to his as she nodded and said, "You said it's not far, right?"

"Just around the corner," Blaise replied.

"Okay," she said, then firmer, "Good!"

***

Her back tingled, static buzzing over her skin, across her shoulders and down her arms into her finger tips. She felt the hand in her hair as she started to turn and froze, moving for her wand instead, her fingers closing around the stem; reassuring weight of wood warm against her palm. But Blaise surprised her again, pulling her hair back on one side, before tucking and smoothing it behind her ear.

"What's up, Granger? Let me guess, wondering why I'm not with the rest of my House? Celebrating perhaps?" Blaise's voice, usually so devoid of emotion, was bitter and Hermione bit her lip. She could feel his breath against her ear and it felt like an accusation. It felt like betrayal.

"We're just as affected by this as the rest of you. He was a great wizard and regardless of any other opinions my Housemates and I may have about him, we all recognise and know what this means. Maybe more so."

Hermione wanted to say she was sorry and to apologise. She wanted to ask Blaise where he stood. Because she'd never believed, not really, that Slytherin equalled Death Eater, and she'd always wondered about him, but… he got there first before she could pick a specific question to run with.

"You'll be needing these," Blaise said, voice reserved once more as he stepped back, all business. When Hermione turned, her gaze was drawn to three books that he was holding out to her.

***

Blaise pulled her into a turn, sharp pull on her arm and searching eyes as he stepped into an opening to the left.

The alley they'd moved into was narrow, and seemed to grow darker with every step further into it. Hermione thought of watching Roman Holiday with her Mum, the way the film had seemed to grow darker and more ominous as the characters had approached La Bocca Della Verità. She guessed she was Gregory Peck in this version, and it was funny how she had more sympathy for his character's deception now.

She looked up at Blaise, studying the profile of his face – the parts not hidden by his mask at any rate. She tried to find the boy she knew - _the boy she barely knew_ – in the shadows cast on his features. She tried to find the things he'd always kept hidden as a teenager and found not much had changed. She still didn't have a clue what he was thinking.

Still, it was impossible not to wonder what his opinion would be if he knew. If he'd be angry. If he'd be disgusted. If he'd be bothered at all.

She didn't think he would. Even Draco didn't care that much any more, and Blaise had never been very vocal in his dislike. Except for that one conversation Harry told her about. Except for that.

Guilt from the deception burned the back of her throat, but it didn't outweigh the need thrumming through her nor did it dull the thrill from the anonymity that the masks provided.

Blaise looked over at her, his smirk dimming momentarily, and then he moved in, pressed her back against a wall and kissed her. His mouth so gentle that it was somehow almost dirty in its slowness; in the things its intent hinted at as it moved against hers, licking promises against her lips and tracing suggestions along her tongue. Blaise's kisses were like a seduction and it was easy to capitulate, far easier than Hermione would have found herself doing at any other time, so she kissed back and ignored the risk of losing her hand.

***

He'd never once called her _Mudblood_. She had never heard it hissed disparagingly from his lips as she slipped past him in the halls.

Still, she hesitated; eyes narrowed as she looked up at him and asked, "Why?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Because you're going to need them and you won't find anything this detailed on the subject in here or likely anywhere else you'll have access."

"No, I mean why are you giving them to me? Why are you – helping us. Me?"

Blaise smiled, but it wasn't happy. It was twisted and filled with a hint of something that could be displeasure, but felt like disappointment. It made Hermione's stomach roil with uncertainty.

"You want to know if you can trust me?" Blaise asked, stepping forward. "That's what this comes down to, right?"

Hermione flicked her eyes down to Blaise's hand and the books and nodded; a barely there inclination of her head that she wasn't sure she'd prefer to just go unnoticed.

Blaise reached out, took her hand, and folded her fingers around the spines on the books, pressing them back against her chest. "The thing with trust is, you can never be sure unless you try."

***

As soon as the door shut, Blaise started backing Hermione up against the wall, his lips feathering kisses that were filthy with promise along her jaw and down her neck. His hands slipped from her waist down to the curve of her bum. His mouth was against hers and seeking entrance while he lifted her up onto the small table. He's sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, eyes looking up at her through thick lashes, his fingers sliding under the hem of her dress, inching it up and it was too much. Hermione felt overwhelmed with the sensation of Blaise everywhere at once.

She closed her eyes, broke the kiss with the need to breathe, taking in one long, slow, deep breath of air in an attempt to centre herself.

Blaise pulled back, gave her space and brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek in a move that was nothing like anything she'd have expected from him before tonight. He dragged a finger down the curve of her mask, pushing underneath, question clear.

It felt, for a moment, even more personal than the hand under her dress. Hermione bit her lip, felt her stomach flutter and flip and said, "No!" reaching up and circling his wrist with her fingers, voice filled with more alarm than she'd intended.

"Just… Can we… Please?"

Blaise narrowed his eyes, studying her face with the same kind of intensity she'd seen him study their Potions assignments at school. A moment later though, he nodded, lips quirking up in a smirk as he leaned back in for another kiss.

Except Hermione stopped him again, her palm flat on his chest. "I don't usually do this," she found herself saying, the words rushed out in a quick breath. She glanced away, chewed the flesh of her lip until she felt the skin crack and burst in a bright sting that grounded her.

"I know," Blaise replied and Hermione didn't even consider asking how.

***

Hermione could admit, even if it was just to herself, that standing in the Restricted Section was not the first time she'd given a significant amount of thought to Blaise's motives and beliefs.

Not remotely.

She just had a little more reason this time.

And she liked to believe that the fact she'd been looking towards the boy with the slanted eyes and haughty features ever since he first scored higher than her on an Arithmancy test in third year, did not colour her decision to trust him.

Just like she also liked to believe that she'd never admired his long fingers and full lips just as much as his academic skill. She'd looked, yes, and even now she can't deny that the package was pretty appealing, but it wasn't the thing that attracted her and it wasn't the thing that made her say ' _Okay'_ now.

No, what made her take the chance was the fact that Blaise had always seemed different. He'd always seemed a bit of a mystery; quieter than his peers, a bundle of conflicts. Full of charm one minute and full of sarcasm the next. And she'd wondered sometimes, what it would be like to be able to talk to him, discuss assignments and maybe even work together instead of sitting at separate tables; studying the same things alone.

She'd wondered if maybe they'd have been friends if it wasn't for their houses. She'd wondered if her parentage would have even come into it.

She can't help but question if her decision will be a mistake, but she also can't help but remember the one time that he'd caught her watching him in the library, the rest of their classmates long gone, just the two of them left alone, a pile of books each. Nothing out of the ordinary except for the fact Blaise had glanced up at her, eyes hooded, quill hanging from one hand, fingers stained darker than normal. And he'd watched her back, time slowing and Hermione's ears full of the sound of blood rushing while she waited for whatever jibe she was sure was coming. Except Blaise hadn't done anything she was expecting. He hadn't even dismissed her presence entirely like she'd thought he might. Instead, he'd inclined his head in a polite nod of actual acknowledgement and then returned his attention to his work.

Blaise was a puzzle with a hundred missing pieces and Hermione had never been very good at resisting the urge to unpick and examine things that leave her curious.

So, Hermione looked up at Blaise, clutched the books close, nodded as her fingers touched the raised lettering of their spines. Maybe it would be a mistake, but she couldn't help feeling like it really wasn't and that maybe Blaise had just handed her one of those lost pieces.

***

There was a pile of books on the bedside table, strips of paper, bookmarking pages and sticking out at various intervals. Clean parchment - rolled up, ink and quills lying next to them. It was so familiar Hermione wanted to laugh and didn't quite manage to contain the urge as well as she'd intended.

Blaise looked up at her, his eyebrow arched high so that just a hint of it was visible peeking out above the edge of his mask. The look on his face was definitely mildly affronted. His fingers were still curled under the edge of her pants, where they'd been teasing and stroking with touches that were just enough to hint, but were still nowhere near enough for anything else.

Hermione bit her lip and turned her head from the books, embarrassed, because okay, she could see why he was upset. Except, when she looked back, Blaise's fingers still suspiciously still, she found him looking thoughtfully at the pile, his lips tilted.

"The top one -" he said, his voice a low purr that Hermione felt like a steady thrum of vibration with each word exhaled against her skin. "- is sixteenth century," he finished, lowering himself back down, bracing his body above hers.

His clever fingers, rather than pushing, lured her legs wider, coaxing them into making more room for him so that he could lean in and lick a slow line up the crease of leg to her hip, his tongue following the edge of her knickers.

"Merlin," Hermione whispered, pushing her head back into the pillow. If her hips rose slightly from the bed, it really wasn't her fault.

His fingers hooked under her waistband with more purpose and tugged. "French." He added, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled her pants off, his fingers trailing over her thighs and calves as he slid them down her legs. It was just enough to almost tickle. He smiled wide as she shivered, and it was almost predatory. "Alchemy," he threw out, like an afterthought, and it took Hermione a moment to recognise that the finger tracing patterns over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh was actually tracing out that word.

Over and over. Different languages.

She closed her eyes, focused on the movement and named each variation aloud; English, French, Latin, Hebrew, Greek, Sanskrit. Blaise was smiling when she opened them again. And it wasn't smug, but full of respect and maybe even admiration.

"You should feel the pages," Blaise said as he leaned back down again, his mouth against hers, and his fingers pressing into her in the way she'd wanted for too long. "Parchment so soft from age it almost rivals the way your skin feels."

He hummed in thought, his fingers curling inside her and making her gasp. Her traitorous hips lifted up again.

"I should use your skin to make notes next time I'm working on the translation."

Hermione really didn't whimper.

***

Blaise had his back to her, standing on the threshold of the entrance to the main library, one hand on the edge of the last stack, his fingers holding on with something like reluctance.

"Are you going to miss this next year?" Blaise asked, then snorted and continued before Hermione even had chance to answer or question, _What?_ "Merlin, of course you are,"

"Blaise, I don't… ?"

"Why did you pick Gryffindor?"

Hermione stared at his back, the line of his shoulders and all she could think was that none of his questions were making sense.

"It offered you a choice, right? So, why Gryffindor?"

Her mouth opened then closed. She wanted to ask how he knew, she wanted to ask why it mattered, instead she said, "Because I was fed up of being defined by my academic skills."

Blaise laughed then and it was the most honest response she could ever remember hearing from him; the most open and unguarded. "Way to discourage that opinion from following you around, Granger."

Hermione chuckled, a little self-deprecating as she replied, "It's not so bad, I guess. Being a _know-it-all_. Sometimes."

Blaise nodded. "No. I wouldn't say it is."

"How about you?" She returned, voice quiet, because it felt like a line.

Blaise just turned his head, looked at her over his shoulder and quirked his lips. "Good luck, Granger."

***

Hermione had her eyes closed, one hand clenched tight around Blaise's shoulder, the other stretched back, behind her, gripping his thigh as she tried to change the angle to just, ' _oh,'_ right.

Blaise's hands were on her hips, steadying her and she rolled forward into them as they pressed and pulled and urged her to move.

And it was - ' _God!_ ' It was so good. And it had been so long since she'd felt comfortable enough to do this with anyone, had been so long since she'd given herself enough time off from work to try.

She leaned forward and down, and just looked at Blaise for a moment before leaning in to kiss him. The coffee and sharp tang of whiskey that he'd tasted of earlier was faded now, would be barely noticeable but for the fact she knew to look for it and she searched it out, humming happily against his lips when she found it.

"I saw you," he said, pulling back from the kiss, lips a light smirk. His fingers stroked over the edge of her mask and for a moment Hermione panicked; eyes wide and hips stuttering in their rhythm. "When you first walked into the square."

She let out a long exhale of breath in relief, while Blaise shifted, one hand moving between them and flicking over her clit with just the right amount of pressure. Her eyes fluttered shut at the touch, forehead falling against his shoulder, allowing herself the indulgence of just concentrating on the sensation for just a moment.

Blaise pushed her hair back behind her ear, pulled her down against him hard, and whispered, "You know I always wondered -" He pulled back and his tongue flicked out to interrupt his musing, sliding up and over the shell of her ear, causing a shiver to run through her. He matched it with a sharp thrust up again, slow drag of skin against skin, and she's so close. "- where did you tell Weasley and Potter you got those books from?"

***

Hermione looked down at the titles of the three books, shifting them in her arms to look properly, fingers tracing the whispered words of the unfamiliar engraved titles and the promises they foretold, the letters faded and burnished by age.

She thought about stereotypes and of what Harry and Ron would think. She thought about Viktor and the arguments she had with her two friends over the sensibility of her relationship with him. She remembered the way Blaise had touched her hair and the way he'd wished her luck. And she wondered what Professor Dumbledore would say. She could almost hear his voice in her head giving her his answer and smiled.

Blaise was turning the handle of the main library door when Hermione caught up to him.

"Blaise. Wait!" she called out.

He turned around and looked back at her, eyebrow quirked and the picture of Slytherin superciliousness.

Hermione grinned. "I forgot to say thanks!"

***

Hermione was distracted from her reaction to Blaise's question by the orgasm that rolled through her body; tight, hot, intense wave of pleasure that made her toes curl like a cliché; her whole body momentarily taut and unresisting all at once.

Blaise pulled her head down against his chest, settled her body against his with soothing touches as she came down; boneless and happy. Hermione was grateful for it for more than just the reason that she suddenly felt ridiculously tired, because it meant she could bury her nose into the curve of Blaise's neck and avoid his eyes.

"You knew," she said and the two words sounded like defeat, because so had she. The knowledge wasn't half as appalling in the after glow of her orgasm.

Blaise was still moving against her; small little thrusts, his hand spread over the curve of her arse pulling her into him with a lazy rhythm. He nudged his nose against the top of her head. "Not exactly hard," he drawled, voice smug and it was just enough to rile Hermione.

She turned her hands from where they laid curled and wedged between their bodies and pushed against him, sitting back up. She ignored the way the change in their position pushed Blaise's cock deeper, the way it caused his pelvis to drag against over-sensitive nerves that flared and sparked with aftershocks, and instead levelled him with a glare.

Blaise grinned impossibly wider, and Hermione ignored that too and poked her index finger into the middle of his chest - hard.

"How?" she asked. "Why didn't you say -?"

Blaise regarded her for a moment, and then she found herself flipped over, onto her back with a grunt. She huffed and tried to pretend she hadn't noticed the fingers that were tracing patterns down the side of her ribs to her hip. "Merlin, could you be more of a smug, conceited, arrogant -"

"You always were particularly fucking gorgeous when you were angry," Blaise said, rolling his hips into her.

Hermione didn't get the chance to reply. Her mouth opened with a question her brain hadn't yet formed and Blaise took the opportunity to lean in, slide his tongue against hers, coaxing Hermione's mouth into a kiss that she ended with a bite that was a little harder than she'd intended to his bottom lip.

"How?" she asked again, her voice firmer this time.

He smiled, shrugged. "You think I didn't hear your voice enough at school, shouting out answers –"

"I didn't shout. I always put my hand up," Hermione interrupted, indignant.

"You used to pout - umm, just like that - whenever Snape would pass you over too." Blaise dragged his thumb over Hermione's lips, letting it rest there for a moment, his eyes tracking it thoughtfully, head tilted. "And even if I hadn't recognised that voice -" He fingered the edge of her mask, tracing the shape, outlining how little of her face it covered. "- I've had enough fantasies about wrapping that mane of yours around my hands and -" Blaise grinned, let the implication and the unsaid justification hang.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, ignored the way her cheeks were hot and focused on the other implication. "You mean you… ? Is that why you gave me those books, because you though it might get you into my knickers?"

"Don't you think I'd have followed this up a bit sooner if that had been my only intention?" Blaise replied coolly, and Hermione tried not to concentrate too much on his mention of ' _only.'_

"My blood's not exactly the purest," he added, shrugging like it was common knowledge, but his eyes didn't meet hers for a moment and either Hermione was more out of the gossip loop than she realised, or it wasn't such an insignificant piece of information as Blaise wanted to make out. "If Voldemort had succeeded, I stood to lose a great deal of the standing I could have otherwise achieved."

"Oh!" Hermione took a moment to consider that, and when Blaise looked back at her there was an openness to his expression that disappeared before Hermione had barely begun to catalogue the way it changed his features. He leaned in, kissed the sensitive spot below her ear and washed the moment almost completely away as he whispered conspiratorially, "Your being indebted to me was just a bonus."

"I don't feel indebted to you," Hermione said, feeling the need to correct his assumption. There was a childish urge to stick her tongue out though she managed to resist it. Blaise would probably have taken advantage of it anyway.

"No? What do you feel then?" Blaise asked, almost distracted as the heel of his hand pressed down on her lower abdomen which changed the angle completely when he next pushed forward.

Hermione didn't answer, and she certainly didn't moan at the reminder of just how good Blaise felt. She just glared harder, clenching around him, her short uneven nails digging into his back while she closed her eyes to exactly what her answer might be.

"I know you used to watch me," Blaise said, infuriatingly resistant to her disregard as he bent his head to mouth at her breast. "Is that why you came here?"

"I needed a holiday," Hermione argued, wrapping her legs around Blaise and pushing up into him, trying to distract him, like he was her.

"Umm, I heard about your most reason case. Quite the success." He rolled them back over, let his eyes roam down appreciatively over her body as she rode him, his palm cupping her breast.

"Did you come because of my bookshop?" Blaise asked, but his voice hitched and broke over the sentence when Hermione lifted and circled her hips. His head fell back, baring his neck and he groaned out an expletive.

Unguarded. Just for a moment.

It was like the best power rush Hermione could ever remember having. It was like every time Professor Snape had grudgingly admitted she was correct, and Hermione smiled, felt something settle and she wasn't sure it was entirely just from watching Blaise. "What bookshop," she denied, but it was weak and Blaise just scoffed, lifted his fingers to her mouth and watched with dark eyes as she sucked the tips inside.

"That was another hint, you know?" Blaise said, nodding his head at the bedside table. "If I'd been at all doubtful that it was you tonight, then the way you looked at my books - the way you responded when I talked about them! Fuck! Don't know anyone else who'd have such a kink for books."

There was that proud look again, but it was a little dirtier than before. Hermione just shook her head, laughed and leant down, flicked her tongue over Blaise's nipple. "Hmm, I don't know," she said, "how about you?"

And this time Blaise smiled, soft chuckle of assent slipping out, but it dimmed a moment later, flattening out. "Did you know it was my bookshop?" Blaise asked, and it would have been almost casual if not for the way his eyes were focussed on her face; hands and hips still for the first time.

It felt important, his voice just that fraction more serious, but Hermione didn't answer. She was fairly certain Blaise already knew what she'd say. So, instead she raised her hand to his face and pushed at the edge of his mask. She still felt a thrill run through her at the thought of taking them off, but it was more from anticipation than nerves this time. "I guess we can lose the masks now."

"Maybe," Blaise conceded and it felt like a confession.

_Nox_


End file.
